Sunday, June 28, 2015


I had a chance to make it all right

I see my blood on the paper

And the small drops, still moist to the touch

They were writ internally, tearing at my skin

Eviscerating me

Till my heart fell on the page

A life beating, pulsing through the words

All the cutting words, the ones sharp and loud

They don’t whimper or murmur

They howl with light and grit and red meat

A scream giving birth to a child that was there

All along

But spoke quietly all along

Blood, so much blood and bleeding and pouring

On the page, the child wanders

Circulating through the black and white

The red stains mark the way

Not travelled, not seen, not anything

The signs of regret

A moment or two uncaptured

But a moment that was willing

To be touched

Yet I walked away

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